


Magnetic Field

by Mouse10



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual John Watson, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining Sherlock Holmes, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:47:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28682769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mouse10/pseuds/Mouse10
Summary: The inspiration for this story comes from something I learned about the difference between 'having sex' and 'making love', that happens when you are with the right person.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61





	1. Chapter 1

It's just sex, after all. 

Sex: _sexual motivated phenomena or behavior. Physical contact between two individuals involving the stimulation of the genital organs of at least one._

Sex itself, is just _behavior_ -it is what it is- it does not _imply meaning._

Sex does not have to lead anywhere. Sex does not does not make any promises. 

After the first time, I awoke in an empty bed, the other side cold, duvet thrown back. 

I opened my eyes, grey winter light illuminating the windows of my room. I had a mild headache, left over from drinking. I hadn't drank that much, I thought. I sat up and listened for sounds in the flat--trying to put the night before back together. I can't say what I thought would happen- _after._

I'm not one to believe promises, anyway.

We had been flat mates for about a year. John working part time at the A and E, me working with the police on occasion.

The week had been slow, the weather bad, cold freezing drizzle making venturing outside a chore. I sat in front of the fire, shoes off, dressing gown on, reading a dry scientific journal-dry even for me. 

I could hear John's footsteps out side the door. I also heard his metal key miss the lock a few times, drinking-obviously. 

I don't know where he was or who he had been with. I hadn't seen him since the day before, when he came home from the A and E. I think today was a work day for him too, but he obviously went out, after work. I imagined he was with that girl he was dating-no, they had broken up--a month ago, actually. 

As it turns out, I found the only interesting sentence in the whole of the article, so I didn't look up until he was sitting in his chair, opposite me. He flopped down in the chair and hurriedly toed off his shoes. _"Hullo, Sherlock."_

I still did not look up, riveted as I was to the article. I turned the page. "Hullo."

John smelled like cold air. He had brought the cold air from the street with him. I finally looked up after he smacked the arms of his chair and jumped to his feet, asking: "Can I get you a drink?" He was still in his coat.

I reluctantly tore my eyes away from the page and frowned. "Erm.." John was already in the kitchen and back with two fingers of whisky. He handed me the glass. He never gave me a chance to answer.

I put the article down. Hot tea would have been more welcome, but I accepted the glass. "Thanks." He was acting oddly, I thought, agitated. He sat down in his chair, coat off now, holding a drink himself. His eyes were shiny in the low light of our flat, it's always pretty dim in here. As I looked at the way he slumped in the chair, I doubted he needed any more to drink. 

He stared at me intently over the rim of the glass, but I couldn't quite read his thoughts. _"Nice evening?"_ I ventured. He shrugged and looked away, staring into the fire. I didn't ask him where he went or who he was with, because I didn't care. He's an adult. 

The fire was warm and I was sleepy, the whiskey not helping. I looked down at my glass and realized it was empty.

" _Another?"_ he said, hopping up again. I started to protest, but he was back quickly, handing me a refreshed glass of toffee-colored liquid. I laughed, "What's gotten into you, John?"

His voice was barely audible. "Nothing," he answered, sitting back down, small quiet smile on his lips. This time he was less agitated. I kept watching him, sipping his whisky, staring into the fire. He shook his glass, ice cubes tinkling and tossed his head back, draining his drink. 

He gently and slowly placed his empty glass on the table beside his chair. As he sat up straight, he slid forward to the edge of his chair, balancing himself there for a moment. I assumed he was going to get up and head to bed, but he stared at me, his face resolute.

John walked over to my chair, standing in front of me. I took a sip of whiskey and looked up at him, not anticipating what he had in mind until he planted his left knee against my thigh in the chair, not quite sitting in my lap.

Momentarily confused, I'm frowning. "John I..." Now I can read him. I may be a little slower than usual tonight, but he's looking at me with a predatory gaze, and touching the side of my face with his right hand. It's quieter than ever in the flat, the air heavy, as time is suspended and my head is spinning, I can hear the crackling of the fire behind him.

I'm frozen. He's holding on to the back of the chair with his left hand as he trails along my jaw with his fingertips. He gently touches my lower lip with his thumb. He has effectively pinned me to the chair. He's practically sitting in my lap. All I'd have to do is sit up and dump him off, but he leans in to kiss me before I can make up my mind.

His lips are soft and his tongue is warm, and he teases my lips with his until I open my mouth. His right hand wanders down my neck to the buttons of my shirt. I feel a breeze as my shirt falls open and I can't help that a small moan escapes me as he palms my chest. _Shit._

He pushes me back further into the chair and I don't want to listen to the nagging voice that tells me that this is a very _bad_ idea. My body betrays me as my right hand falls to the top of his thigh and feel the hard muscle of his leg. I reach up to grab his jersey, shake my head and break us apart, panting a little, "John, you've been drinking, I'm sure..that..."

"No, you're not sure." he says, staring down at me, eyes dark, serious. He's in my lap properly now and reaches around the small of my back to pull my shirttails out of my trousers. I'm sweating and my mind goes blank. He's rocking against me now. "All I'm sure of is that you are the most gorgeous fucking thing I've ever laid eyes on and I've never wanted anything the way I want you." By then, he had both of his hands working on the belt of my trousers. 


	2. Chapter 2

I held my head in my hands, temples throbbing. _A most radical shift in the behavior of John Watson._ Nothing for it.

I climbed out of bed and padded around the flat wrapped in my sheet. Grabbing a glass of cold water I saw a note on the kitchen table. Written in red ink on the back of an envelope. "Gone to work--John." 

The red pen the only one he could find in this messy flat, apparently not indicative of anything but expedience. 

The color of the ink has no meaning in this specific situation. Red ink does not make promises. 

I am alone to ponder. Laughing at myself, I spend a few awkward moments considering that it might be a dream as I walk to the loo. I take the hottest shower I can stand, washing my sticky body. I spy a noticeable black and blue mark on my left hipbone. No dream then. _John Watson was here._

I have a meeting with Lestrade that I can't miss. I can make it to NSY from the Baker Street Underground Station in about 15 minutes. I smoked a quick cigarette and felt a tinge of guilt knowing John would disapprove. 

And John...is...?

Disapproving of my behavior, _often._

_In my bed last night._

Anomaly. I decided to put it out of my mind. I locked it up in an old sea chest in a locked attic of the mind palace and laughed at myself again. 

Lestrade gave me an odd look when I arrived, like he was surprised to see me. I frowned at him. "What?"

"Late night?" I could see the hint of a smile on his lips. He handed me a file of old cases he'd been promising me for an age. 

"No." I grabbed them out of his hand and made my way to a back office that he had relegated me to. I tossed my coat over a chair and sat at an old unused desk and prepared myself for a long afternoon of being unable to think. 

I looked down at the old file, rifling through the old tattered pages, doubtful that I can find a solution to the critical mysteries of my life. 

After about and hour, Lestrade popped his head in the door. "Tea?" he offered. 

I had just been sitting there, staring at the pages anyway. He handed me a cup of tea and sat down opposite. "Anything?"

"No, I'm afraid not. I guess you wont let me take them home to read?" 

"Sorry, _department rules. Want to talk about it?"_

"What? The department rules?""

"No. Anything. Just anything." 

"No." I closed the file, and stood. It was time to go, I wasn't going to get anywhere today. I reached for my coat.

_"I saw John last night."_ Lestrade's voice was much too gentle. 

I froze, hand on my coat. I knew at one this was a loaded statement, but I wasn't sure why. I turned back to Lestrade with what I hoped was nonchalance. 

"You saw John?" I repeated stupidly. Trying to buy time.

"Yeah, at the pub...I guess he just broke up with...with..." 

_"That was a month ago."_ I caught myself, thankfully, before I could sound _too annoyed._ "Sorry, I don't keep track of John Watson's love life, Lestrade." I sighed, put my coat on and handed back the file. I nodded my head towards the file. "Maybe next week."

"Yeah," he said. "Thought he'd be upset, you know?--about the break up." he laughed, "But he wasn't, he said he felt good about it. Settled."


	3. Chapter 3

I took the tube back to Baker Street and walked the few blocks to the flat. I never let myself consider a relationship with John in any way but friendship--and even that was a reach. I'm not friendship material. I'm not even flat mate material. I toss my clothes on the floor, I do messy experiments on the kitchen table. I don't put the bins out.

Not only that, I make chasing criminals and hanging out in unsavory places more than a pastime. 

That John Watson, soldier, doctor, reliable and stable, dependable, rational--kind--had decided to take up with me, for any amount of time, was not to be believed. 

It's been a year of settling in. John comes along with me sometimes to the Yard or on cases, a great assistant, _invaluable really._ He takes notes, helps me clarify my thoughts. Steps in between me and Anderson. 

John's dated about 6 women this year, but I'm not keeping track. None of them lasted more than a month or two. Not sure why they don't last, but he's never really torn up about it. As for me, I rebuff anyone who tries to get close, men or women. Just not interested. 

Of course, I know why. After Victor, I just wasn't interested in relationships or people, for that matter.

_"Because you don't want to get hurt,"_ my brother says. I hate the stupid way he's always right.

And so John Watson got me drunk and seduced me in my own flat. _Wasn't difficult._

Because I was already in love with him. Too late to protect my heart. I just bury my feelings, secreted away, never to see the light of day.

John--as opaque as he is transparent. As much time as we spend together, of course I know he has feelings for me, too. I just can't predict what direction they will take, Well, until now, of course. John has made a move. 

I'm sure this wont last, either. I consider myself lucky it happened at all. I doubt it will be repeated.


	4. Chapter 4

Mrs. Hudson, my landlady meets me in the hallway as I unlock the front door. She points upstairs. _"Client."_

"Already upstairs?" 

She shrugged. "Insisted on waiting. John took them up."

_A client and John._ I took the stairs two at a time. I needn't have.

Stopped outside the flat door when I heard laughing. John and a decidedly female tinkle. 

Beyond my control, I felt blood rush to my face, I opened the door. 

Just the two of them, sitting on the sofa. John jumped up when he saw me, he was smiling broadly. _"Sherlock, here he is."_ he pointed to the girl and raised his eyebrows. "Client."

She stood up, too. I took my coat off and hung it on the hook, silently.

She was a petite blonde, young--wearing blue jeans and carrying a small handbag. Her short black wool coat was on the sofa near to where she was sitting. She wore trainers, which said sensible, practical, wore a wrist watch when no one else does--so likely a nurse, and had a few cat hairs on her coat-so living alone--in London, so has money. 

"Sherlock Holmes, I want to introduce Miss Mary Morstan, client. She wants us--well, _you_ \-- to..."

_"Nope."_ I said, interrupting, and started walking to my bedroom.

John, I'm sure, was dumbfounded. "Uh, wait--Sherlock, _what?_ Just a minute Mary, _Miss Morstan._ Let me... I'll talk to him. Sit, please." he followed me down the hallway. 

I tore off my shirt, tossed it on a chair and pulled on an old vest and my softest dressing gown. _"Not interested."_

John kept his voice down, it wasn't a large flat. "Sherlock, what are you doing? You-- _we_ need the money, right? A client--you just can't _walk away,_ at least hear what she has to say..."

And we stood there, the both of us in the middle of my bedroom, right next to my large bed, where just the night before, we had spent hours...together, duvet and sheets still rumpled.

I was quiet, standing there with my arms crossed in front of me, angry. At this point, in my life, I could not articulate my thoughts and feelings. I looked over at John, who I'm sure could not imagine what I was playing at. 

He sighed. "Fine. I'm sorry that I don't understand. I'll ask her to go." he shrugged and walked away. I shut the door, curled up into a ball and fell asleep with my clothes on.


	5. Chapter 5

I thought it was best to avoid John. Maybe if I didn't see him, I wouldn't be so angry. In my fit of pique, I fell asleep early in the evening, so I was wide awake at about 3 am.

I could leave the flat and and wander the streets until my head cleared. I hit the loo and walked into the kitchen for water. I stepped half way into the kitchen when I realized that John was asleep on the sofa. He had fallen asleep in his clothes. 

He sat up with a start when I inadvertently stepped on a creaky floorboard. The sitting room was dim, faint light from the street illuminating the windows. John sat up rubbing his eyes and I immediately felt a pang of regret about my previous behavior. 

I sighed and walked over to the sofa, my water forgotten. John stood up, "Sherlock," he whispered. 

"I'm sorry, John, I don't know what..." There was just a hair's breadth between us. I watched him looking up at me, sleepy, breathing slowly. I moved closer and placed my right hand on his waist. He didn't back away. 

I tried to search his eyes in the darkness, They glinted slightly in the light from the windows. "I don't know what I'm doing." I whispered.

"Neither do I." John said quietly, shrugging. He placed his right hand on my waist. 

I caressed his cheek with my left hand, he didn't move. His eyes were open and earnest and I was panic-stricken. I quickly flash back to my relationship with Victor, which didn't prepare me at all for-- _this._

I waited. When he didn't back away or punch me, I leaned down to kiss him. John responded in kind, kissing me back gently, sighing. He ran his left hand up my arm and moved forward another inch, so that he pressed against me, slightly. 

There was nothing gentle about Victor. I'm afraid I don't know what gentle is. 


	6. Chapter 6

I took that as a go ahead and slipped both of my arms under John's vest and pulled him closer to me. I lifted the vest over his head, slipping it in between us, breaking a bit of momentum. 

I looked down at John, my eyes adjusted a bit to the low light. He had gained a stone in the last year, putting on weight since his discharge from the military. My breath caught in my throat, gazing down at his defined arms and muscles of his shoulders. I stood there momentarily shocked. 

But John reached for me, grabbed my dressing gown, and pulled me into a rougher kiss. He pushed the dressing gown off my shoulders where it pooled on the floor. "We can move to the bedroom." he says hoarsely, in between kisses. His warm hand palming me through my trousers. 

"It's our flat, we can do what we want." I whisper and caress his hand. I would have sex with John on every piece of furniture in this flat, if he's amenable.

He grabs my hand and pulls me towards my bedroom, laughing. _"The bed, Sherlock."_ he insists. I love his laugh. 

Of course, I follow him, I'd follow him anywhere.

I couldn't pay attention the first time. The alcohol and shock of what was happening dulled my senses. 

But not this time.

We're taking our time now, no alcohol, no headaches, no hurry. My bed is big, my sheets are soft, my duvet crumpled at the end of the bed. 

I wanted to memorize every inch of John- his muscles, his scars. I wanted to take my time, tracing every tan line with my tongue, but John was impatient. He's playful in bed, he tossed me on my back a few times, getting me laughing so hard my sides ached. 

I've never spent so long kissing someone. This is the _snogging_ everyone talks about. My groin ached and I was so hard I thought I would pass out.

I know I gave out a loud, desperate moan, _"John, what are you doing?"_ I panted. 

"I'm kissing you." he said matter-of-factly.

His mouth and hands were everywhere. I tried to keep up, but I was helpless. 

john, what are you doing? I asked again before the world went white. 

_"I'm making love to you."_ he whispered. 

And I could only just lay there, spent and shaking as John held me. Somewhere in my mind palace and old sea chest opened up and I promised myself that I'd make him feel as worshipped as he had me. 

It's very difficult for me to look at John without smiling, Over the years I have practiced looking down at his shoes or mine. I'm very talented at looking off into the horizon, too.

Sex itself is just behavior, certainly entertaining, but doesn't necessarily make any promises. Fills the time, fills the senses, but doesn't fill the soul. 

Making love is a different prospect, though, and can be full of promises, tenderness, care and comfort. I wasn't ready when it arrived. 

Turns out, it's all fine.


End file.
